


Ignite

by Accuni



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, M/M, Slight Canon Divergence, Transformers Spark Bonds, not interface
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-19 22:28:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19365130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accuni/pseuds/Accuni
Summary: The end of a lifetime of war did not entail the end of every struggle, Megatron knew this to be true. He knew that every old attachment would come to a head eventually. And a newly returned Prime, thrust back into the world he abandoned, has to face his own truths at some point.//Beginning of a new bond, surrounding the comic arc "World, Shut Your Mouth"





	Ignite

**Author's Note:**

> Trying to get back into the groove of writing, it's been very busy but I have a lot of MegOp to share eventually.  
> This fic is the prequel piece to [Take the Flame](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17691308), but you can read either one first. They don't connect with my E-rated canon compliant fic, however.
> 
> Much longer than intended, but I really wanted to write this bonding story for a while, and I feel like this arc would have been most appropriate, not to mention I've read it the most. A good amount of angst because I love throwing that on to Optimus.

Optimus left the cell. Left him back to the darkness, and to his thoughts.

After the confrontation with the mnemosurgen, Megatron was sure he never wanted to talk to Optimus again. He was shaken from the close call as all those memories from millions of years ago resurfaced. And he was _bitter_ for the fact that Optimus would even offer such an atrocious act to what? Expedite the process?

Like he told the Prime, he would rather have fought and be killed in his cell than have his mind tampered with. And if they needed to lay out each and every detail of his crimes, of the history of the war, so be it. If there was no other way that his change of spark would be taken with legitimacy when he went down in history, then the trial will have to take centuries.

It would be a lie if he said he didn’t want Cybertron to believe him before he left for good, that he didn’t want _Optimus_ of all mech to believe him. Something happened while he witnessed their world at near-destruction, caused by a force that wasn’t his, and from the outsider perspective, Megatron realized that this wasn’t the way he wanted to see change enacted on Cybertron. That change wasn’t forced by his own servos, and was out of his control, was change he didn’t want. It was a selfish thought, but it was one that had driven him all those millennia ago, even if it was the wrong path. Now though, the right path was clear, and closing quickly.

 

* * *

 

 _Guilty_.

He was still pleading guilty- that was inevitable. Internally, Megatron knew he didn’t have the means to claim anything else, and never would. It was set in stone as much as every act committed during the war was, remaining to be unchanged, and most likely that way for the rest of history.

And yet.

And yet there were things he still wanted to say- to the public, and to individuals. Going out on an arrest was not what Megatron had pictured, even in his occasional visions of them losing the war. He now felt like he was grasping at a situation that was quickly slipping through his servos. A grand escape wasn’t in the cards, nothing was worth that now that the war was over. Further diplomacy seemed to be the only course of action if it was seen that he was set free.

Plans for the future also seemed to be escaping him. The situation was just so unreal, so unnatural compared to every confrontation or capture during the war.

If the Autobots wanted to act civil _now,_ well so be it. He would still find a way to fight them, even without brute force; after all, Megatron began this fight with only the use of his intellect, so he was sure he could end it this way as well. His mind and spark.

_It was all he had._

 

* * *

 

 _“We won’t be speaking again.”_ were quite the famous last words of Optimus Prime. Megatron knew it was always a lie. He and the Prime were always destined to cross each other over and over, it was a universal constant as much as was the fact that energon coursed through their pumps. And as was the fact that he could always provoke the Prime back to their inner war, no matter how many times he claimed it was _over_ . And though that very idea was still a continuous struggle, lately the tides had felt _shifted_. Their civil moments grew too close, the hostility too far apart. It was uncomfortable as much as it was frightening in its reality. Rather than let the course of the war bring them together, they seemed to seek out each interaction, it was just the way their worlds began to entangled in one another, as they had in the beginning.

And true to that fate, Optimus came back to the cell that night.

“Is this not confounding the legitimacy of your trial, Prime?”

Optimus stood at the bars of the cell, the sizzle of plasma highlighting his weary features.

“It is not _my_ trial, Megatron, it’s the public’s. I’m only here to serve the people what they are owed.”

“And what is it they are owed?”

Megatron thought he heard Optimus sigh behind his mask, otherwise, his body language was shut off, most likely for the better.

“They are owed justice. You know that- you _knew_ that many years ago. Cybertron is long overdue her peace, Megatron, and as one of the proprietors of her destruction, I promise to do everything it takes to create a better home for our race.” he left out _under morally respectable means_ , but Megatron didn’t need to hear the same rhetoric he’d heard repeated for over four million years and counting.

There was a silence when Megatron didn’t have a jab to throw back. He found it odd they already reached the point of exhausting their spat. It had really been too long.

“Are you really sure you aren’t just using my trial to gain back your saintly image in the eyes of the people, _Orion_? I was aware of how you were... treated upon your return. How you are still viewed after Galvatron. They’re wary of leaders now, the people are not so blind as they used to be.”

“You have no grounds to be speaking of me taking advantage of a situation like this, Megatron.”

“And you have no grounds to be standing at my cell, lauding over your own victory.”

Optimus did sigh then, shifting his weight to pinch his nasal ridge. “Can we not do this? We are not fighting anymore, Megatron, you do not need to keep up this facade. Can we not talk like normal mech?” _Or are we always destined to fight?_

Megatron leaned back against the cell wall, staring straight forward. “Yes, we can talk. We could have always talked.” his tone was snide.

“I know you are aware that is _not_ what I meant.” Optimus said sternly.

Megatron still wouldn’t meet his gaze, his old stubbornness coming back, as it always did when they argued. “Then go on…”

Prime shifted again, looking down the corridors.

“I find myself needing to know, before time gets swept away with the trial,” _-and for completely unprofessional reasons._ He paused, because the words seemed stuck. “Back then, before Galvatron tried to dismantle the planet, when you were still in custody within Omega… you said you did not hate me. I realize everything about that meeting was pure provocation… I don’t know if it’s wise to ask if that part was true or not.”

Megatron’s immediate reaction was to laugh, but he stopped himself, knowing it would only upset Prime even more and- and he had to admit that this _was_ a conversation that was long overdue in a space finally void of conflict.

He had said it so simply back then, but it was a topic they had danced around for far too long.

“Perhaps not, Prime. Perhaps not…” Yet his stubbornness did not rid him of the presence outside the cell, waiting for a valid answer. The conflict of _talking_ or dying not having given into the Prime was waning. Megatron let out his own sigh. 

“I find that...our time now is even more complicated than before.” Megatron fought his way against all the blockades, all the urges to throw his bitter attitude back at the Prime. _Just talk._ “During the war, was it not so easy to feed into that anger, that rage that fueled battle? It was so much less abstract back then, less black and white. And I would have gladly given you an answer immediately, that you would have taken my words at face value.” Megatron did look at the Prime now, feeling as though his optics could convey an emotion he did not want to have to voice. _This is the last step before the end._ “I’m not so sure you’ll believe anything I say at this point.”

Optimus was a monolith, unmoving and staring down at Megatron. “ _You_ are worried about whether or not I’ll find you genuine?”

“I’d just rather not waste my energy trying to convince a lost cause.”

“Megatron, I’m the one who asked you. This has nothing to do with the trial, or with the war. I’m risking coming down to talk to a _prisoner_ because I find myself thinking about the outcome of our struggle far too often, and I am not sure how much of my future functioning will be bothered by the fact I never settled on an astute standing with my oldest enemy.”

And wasn’t that an admission.

With a dry laugh, Megatron looked away again. “The short answer is _no,_ Optimus Prime.” The silence continued. “However, I’m afraid to admit it’s not so simple- surely you understand that sentiment as well.”

“Then tell me.” the Prime’s voice had gotten quiet.

Another laugh. And another bold statement. “How about I _show_ you?” Megatron was standing them, leaning near the bars of the cell as they illuminated the wild look on his face when he cocked his helm forward.

That had the Prime freezing, backing off.

“No.”

“What’s the matter, Prime? Too invasive?” Megatron’s grin was dark. _Back at your old games. It’s so easy to be bitter again, is it not?_ “Did you not just so kindly offer to take a nice, long look into my processor last cycle?”

“ _M_ _egatron-_ ”

Closer. “Or, is it because this would involve _you_?” He was nearly up against the burning plasma now. The Prime was visibly shut off.

“I know that selfish side, I’ve experienced the punishing end of it. There’s no misgivings when it’s your lifelong nemesis, but the holy Optimus Prime cannot bear to expose himself-”

“ _STOP!”_

There it was. That old Optimus, between each Orion.

“That is out of the question.” his head hung, away from the light of the cell.

“And do you care to explain why?” Megatron asked, leaning further and further. Nearly a breath away. He knew _an_ answer, but he wanted the _Optimus_ one.

When Optimus brought his helm back up, only a hint of the pained expression was left. “Because… it would not be _right_.” he said, back to that quiet, collected voice.

Megatron felt nothing from him then.

“Because that chance was lost too long ago. There’s already so much between us now, it- I am unsure of what would happen if we continued.”

Megatron backed off. He knew he wasn’t getting any more than that from the Prime.

“Since when have you become a coward to yourself, Optimus?” and it wasn’t goading.

The Prime was turning, already making to leave. He looked back at Megatron, with an unreadable expression. “Of that, I am also unsure, old friend.”

 

* * *

 

Megatron had this planned out, he always had plans. Until of course Starscream, his old heel coming to thwart his refined attitude over and over, intervened. After the last meeting with Prime, he was nearly ready to settle, to take his guilty declaration and see where it lead him. He had not accepted death, but more so the slightly optimistic alternative of _I am not going out this easily_.

And all Starscream had was _pity_ . Hate was acceptable and resentment was assumed, but _pity_ was _disgusting_ , an act that made a tyrant’s lip sneer in utter distaste.

_Not guilty._

The look on the Prime's face was absurd.

It was a lie, of course. Megatron didn’t truly believe it. But he did believe there was another course of action yet to be taken with his life. The hard part was getting _Optimus_ to agree.

Back to the cell. Progress was hard again, and the rogue Decepticons’ interference would not help his cause one bit.

Megatron sat, staring at the floor of the dingy block. He was not defeated, no, the mighty Megatron was not destined to fall to such...normal circumstances. He scuffed a pede against the brushed metal of the cell, wondering how many other mech had shared this space in the past. What were their stories, their crimes? They didn’t measure up to him, to _Megatron_.

It was a conflicting train of thought. He didn’t want the anonymity, the loss of individuality, but the thought of leaving all his mistakes behind, with nothing to show for, nothing to _try and make up for-_

The dissonance was deafening, and Megatron found it harder to reign over these thoughts as the trial dragged on.

 

A sudden presence at his side, a sidelong glance up red armor to burning blue, nearly white, _furious_ optics.

_Ah yes, the altercation._

He’d open his mouth to make a snide remark, but the Prime didn’t seem apt to be taking any excuses at this point. Of course, Megatron also wasn’t one to acquiesce each and every one of his orders, even as a prisoner. He told himself he’d only fall under Prime’s grasp to _play_ him, to manipulate the situation as needed, not unlike the last time he was in their custody. Every interaction was about getting _reaction_ with Optimus, or else there would be no other way around his stubborn frame.

 _“Forget them, it’s you I’m interested in.”_ he’d said after Megatron’s comment on the Decepticon’s paltry rescue attempt.

Unmoving and silent, Megatron let it play out. He let Optimus question him about the trial, his plans- as if such plans weren’t made and remade every new cycle he was still functioning.

“It was all a ruse, wasn’t it?” Optimus had suddenly sat down next to him, speaking closely, quietly. Megatron told himself he wouldn’t give in to this show of deference, tempting as it seemed. “All you were doing was maneuvering yourself toward a legal loophole.”

Megatron turns to Optimus. “This isn’t about loopholes, this is about how I am _remembered_.” He knew he was toeing the line, every statement sounding like one excuse after another. This drastic change of character certainly not going to be overlooked once he explained himself.

Optimus seemed to visibly tense up at that, his optics growing even more intense. “ _Remembered?_ ” he spat out, though his voice was still at a low register, almost like scolding someone in private. Possibly his way of giving Megatron even the smallest scrap of liberty, or reigning in his frustration.

“Megatron, I don’t think any mech in the galaxy is going to remember you for what you do now over what you’ve _already done_.” he says. “...as much as I wish the circumstances were entirely different.”

It’s obvious the Prime wants to add on to that, Megatron can always tell when his rival has had more to say but held his tongue in more realistic judgement of the situation. Just as he’d always wanted Optimus to break through that reservation, wanted to reach down to his very core and hear everything he’d never threatened to say.

And now-

_Now more than ever._

Megatron let out a long vent. He wasn’t sure if this conversation was going to be steered in a direction where he wouldn’t be able to stop, as was the path of all their interactions

“When I took the stand, the Luna 2 loophole was a _contingency plan_ \- to be invoked should the need arise,” he tried his best to articulate the reasoning, evading having it sound like a final appeal for time and more so like solid grounds for his plans. He _wanted_ to do something for this planet now that it was wrecked almost beyond repair, he wanted to at least make these last actions something worthwhile rather than destructive, even if they didn’t overturn past mistakes.

Just as he broke from the chains of a class who sought to control a mech’s functioning, to rise up and create a world for himself, Megatron would not let any other mech forge his final remembrance either. Not the mnemosurgen, not Prowl, Starscream, not Prime—

No.

He felt the brunt of decisions did actually rely on Optimus, regardless of their feelings or the situation. It was an extremely delicate matter, he had to tread carefully.

 

Megatron explained the basis for joining the _Lost Light_ , about finding the supposed Knights of Cybertron, and receiving the ending as fate dealt it then. But not now, not when he was helpless and back in shackles.

Megatron would laugh about the parallel of his own personal history if he wasn’t so wary of the fragility of the situation.

Optimus did not comment on his rationale, sitting resolute against the cell wall and listening. Likely processing the plan- deciding if he’d fall to Megatron’s _schemes_ one last time.

Megatron knew he was thinking hard, noticing the tell tale twitch of his receptors, the way his stare wasn’t focused. He knew when Optimus wanted to hear, but not react. It was a learned trait during wartime. And in all honesty, he fully expected the Prime to once again leave the cell without another word when he was done. This was the least he could do.

 

“-because I will know that before I died I was able to do something worthwhile.” Megatron stops, looking over at him.

Optimus had a datapad out, attention turned to tapping at it, and Megatron almost had to reign in the urge to start shouting.

“What is this?” he scoffs. “I open my spark and you start _typing_?” The comment was not lost on empty receptors.

“I hope you realize,” the Prime begins, sounding tired again. “That this is nothing short of the hardest decision I’ve had to make since the height of the war.” and he looks Megatron right in the optics.

He doesn’t feel guilt, he doesn’t feel the weight of stress, because Megatron is adamant. What needs to be done- to be _finished-_ does not outweigh his personal gain. He fears the path his spark wants to take is more painful in fact, and that there aren’t very many ways to live with both realities.

“I want to say it doesn’t have to be hard, but that would also be a lie.” Megatron explains.

Optimus sighs and leans his helm back, closing his optics for a moment before fixing his stare on Megatron one last time.

“If I were to let you join the _Lost Light_ , it would be conditional. I would attach a condition.”

Megatron’s optics widen only a bit. Inside, he’s frankly surprised Optimus would grant him this so easily. But maybe, it wasn’t easy at all. He felt that the Prime would work in opposition to him when it came down to it. All the small hopes he had were but fleeting notions, Megatron didn’t think Optimus would do _this._ Surely it was going to cause outrage among the people of Cybertron, and Optimus was not one to act in counterpoint of something that would harm his public image.

“In exchange for freedom of movement, you’re going to stand in front of the people- in front of the people you’ve _wronged_ ,” he handed Megatron the datapad. “And you’re going to say _that_.”

 

Megatron wasn’t looking at the datapad yet, he was listening to the Prime’s words.

_Wronged._

He could fix their home, he could find a way to provide a better future for Cybertron… but he still struggled in finding a way he could change himself in the eyes of a single mech. His last obstacle.

Finally, he looked at the datapad.

_A denunciation of the Decepticon clause._

The very thing he worked to build up for over the last 4 million years, the thing that clung to his identity like nothing else. The only thing he will always be remembered for.

For a moment, Megatron only felt that old, hot rage in his spark, one that threatened his composure, and he let his expression sour.

“This is-” _quite the biased ultimatum_ , _Prime_. Even if he still wanted to end the madness that had gotten out of his hands long ago.

“That is what you’re going to do, Megatron,” Optimus tapped the pad. “Unless you’re comfortable with lifelong imprisonment or immediate execution.”

Megatron didn’t want either of those, of course, not yet.

“This is insane, Optimus! Do you know what my forces will do if this happens?”

“They are no longer your forces, and this is no longer a war.” Optimus said sternly. “Any outrage or violence will be treated as criminal from here on, and be taken care of, you know this.”

Of course he did. But Megatron still found himself worrying that his path to peace would only cause more problems, at least the way it was going now.

Optimus sighed again. “You know I wish there were a better end- an easier and more ideal way for this all to work so every mech could be happy- that’s all I’ve ever wanted. But like I said a few cycles ago, _too much has happened_. There is no plausible way for this all to be fixed right now, surely you aren’t too disillusioned to realize that, even for how much you claim you want to change.”

“I _do_ want to change things, Optimus. Why won’t you take my word for it, even now? What else do I have to use at my disposal, what else do I have to _lose_?” Megatron almost shook, anger making his hands clench the datapad. He felt entirely vulnerable opening up like that, but it was true. He was at the end of his road, and the only way back was to trudge through every problem he created.

“There is nothing left for mech like us now; we no longer have a strong hand in the future, we only have influence on what affects how the past is seen. Our story is over, and we’re only here to clean it up. Surely you realized that when I returned to _Orion_ , that we need to be the ones that help the future and its creations, given our home even lives that long.”

Their mistakes were vastly different and nowhere near the same magnitude, but Optimus could understand the sentiment over the comparison.

“I know, but I-” the Prime choked on his words a moment, his defenses ever so slowly breaking down. “My past is not as clearly observable- it’s... _you_ are my past.”

Quite the last obstacle, indeed, coming up much too fast.

Megatron remained quiet.

“I do not forgive you for what you’ve done.” Optimus said, though it sounded like he wanted it to be anything but the truth. “I don’t forgive you for turning your movement in to what it was, from it’s solid beginnings. Like Starscream said, you let rage take you, and I will never overlook that. I just...I wish it was easier. I wish I could live knowing that this is the absolute right decision. There’s too many elements involved, too many parts I cannot control. I’ve learned to let that feeling go over the course of the war, but it’s different this time, it feels so much harder than before. That’s why this is so hard now, believing... all of _this._ ” he reaches out to Megatron’s red badge, gently tapping it with his fingertips. Megatron has to tamp down his plating from immediately shifting at the touch. Optimus releases a heavy vent, clearly becoming quickly overwhelmed, and snaps his mask back to reveal his full troubled expression.

The moment feels too small, too intimate.

“I want to believe you, Megatron. I don’t know how to get over whatever is holding me back but-” he slowly spreads his fingers so his whole palm rests against the Autobot badge, looking Megatron in the face. “We don’t always get second chances. I want this future to work.”

Megatron tries not to let his frame tremble from the mere occurrence of Optimus bearing himself like this- something that has never happened. He dares bring a hand up to hover over the one on his chest, but not yet touching.

“It _will_ work,” he murmurs. “Please let me show you…”

Optimus tenses, apprehensive, and goes to remove his hand, but a darker one grasps it.

Megatron feels the buzzing heat as he takes the Prime’s hand, pulling it back toward his chest plates, this time rubbing his thumb over a blue one.

“Please, Optim- _Orion…_ ”

“Don’t-” Optimus’ expression is pained, sad. Megatron knows he’s still at war with himself, with the mech he abandoned such a long time ago- thrust into a position he didn’t entirely want, just to do what was right.

“It doesn’t have to be complicated.” Megatron rumbles quietly. “A lot _has_ happened, but we cannot hang on to what’s already been done- especially each of our own histories. All we can do now is build off of that destruction and into a new future. And I will do everything in my power to make it work, I will do whatever it takes. I’m not trying to show you because of the circumstances, and not because I’m a pleading prisoner… I _want_ to do this, Optimus. It’s the first step in the journey.”

The Prime’s hand is warm under his.

“I realized that once I decide to set foot on that ship, I don’t know if we will ever see each other again. And I don’t know how I feel about that fact.”

He feels more than sees the grip on his hand grow tighter then. Optimus’ face plates contort into a grieved frown, and he turns his head to hide the expression. Megatron then understands the need for the mask so often. He knows the expression is not meant to be negative, that his internal conflict is raging on, and that everything in this moment is at stake.

Megatron leans further over, their shoulder plating touches at points, and he nearly feels Optimus’ chaotic internal energy. They can never go back to the start ever again, but he finds this does feel like some kind of _a beginning_.

“Listen,” Megatron’s other hand comes up to grasp a red shoulder. “This isn’t us owing the world- or each other- anything other than just the truth.”

Optimus seems to give up a bit, sagging a little into the contact of their frames, like all the energy in him was drained. They’re close, closer than they’ve ever been outside of a battle, and Megatron feels his vents on his face as he speaks.

“The truth has always been there, old friend.” he says.

Megatron tilts his helm. “ _Unspoken_.” he looks down at their hands. “I just- I have a desire to _try_.”

Optimus looks at him with an indescribable emotion, bending his helm so their foreheads touch. He looks into Megatron’s optics, seemingly searching, but otherwise back to saying nothing. Megatron knows this particular silence, knows he’s _thinking_ \- because all he does is _think_ , and never _acts_.

The moment drags on, a small stretch of time in the world only consisting of the cell and the two old sparks in it. Megatron is a bit surprised to find he isn’t bothered by the silence, that it's comfortable for once. It’d all been too frantic, too much chaos happening, and not even counting Shockwave, or even Megatron coming back from the dead multiple times. Their world had been completely flipped around, rendering the war and all the conflict almost obsolete. It was almost surreal to think it’s just... _over_. Sitting on the floor of that makeshift cell, on a desolate moon, the silence then is a pause from the madness, it’s a break from the voices of every mech, and ultimately, it’s comfort.

Megatron doesn’t want to break the odd serenity of the moment he’s never gotten to share, but finds himself wondering if Optimus will… well, he isn’t sure what he wants.

 _To be closer,_ is what his processor struggles on believing.

Sliding a hesitant hand up the curve of a blue helm, he’s angling the Prime’s face towards his, optics searching, _asking_ . The limits of that moment are unknown, but he _wants_. Optimus doesn’t react too much but shifting a hand down to rest against his hip, frame moving in, while the other still against the badge on his chest, almost minutely clenching at the armor. It’s a strange image of an embrace, but every movement is like a step at glacial pace toward the truth.

The Prime leans forward, lips brushing against the side of Megatron’s helm as he speaks.

“I’m sorry…” he murmurs with all the weight of his decisions pushed into the words.

“Some would call it insane to even consider giving you any chance at all, but I suppose it’s in my nature to put my trust in any mech I see potential in. Primus,” Optimus breathes in almost a laugh. “I suppose you were the first I took a chance in, way back then. And look where that got us.”

Megatron strokes his plating, and his smile is bittersweet. “It’s gotten us full circle, is where.”

He feels Optimus laugh again, and the lightness of the moment warms his spark. This is a reality they can maybe exist in, where they should have been from the beginning. After everything, being too young, having too much responsibility, is one of the things Megatron finds he regrets the most. For all the rhetoric of _we could have been allies, Prime_ , he never once stopped to think what that very sentiment would require. The war was lived in moments, and while the intent was to better their planet, and their galaxy- if for different reasons- they didn’t once stop to think of the outcome in those individual actions. Thinking retroactively now is painful, almost appalling, but…

_We can only work on the past._

In entirety, it meant taking those mistakes and building something solid off of them, but it also spoke volumes in meaning for the space between two old mech.

Then Optimus was pulling away, extracting that comforting energy.

“I-I find myself wishing we could discuss... _things_ further, old friend,” he says, “but unfortunately, what needs to be done now is to conclude this trial. The public will not wait forever, as you put it earlier.”

Megatron did not entirely hide the disappointment on his face, nor suppress the inner anxiety threatening to make itself known. _I don’t know if we will ever see each other again._

Optimus looked like he already regretted his leave.

“I understand,” Megatron said. “Appearances, and all…” he smirked.

The Prime simply nodded, remembering to snap his mask back in place before he stood and turned to leave. Before deactivating the cell’s bars, he stopped, looking back at Megatron.

“I will speak with you again when this is all over, that I can promise.”

 

* * *

 

Megatron’s hands did not shake as he read the datapad in front of hundreds of waiting Cybertronians. He did not think about the results, or the end, but of the means to achieve his new goal.

He ended the Decepticons as swiftly as he brought them up, with nothing but his words.

And as he condemned his movement, Megatron condemned himself.

One could call it throwing out responsibility for their actions, but he knew the only thing to alleviate this difficult solution was to let go of that old arrogance, lower himself back down to that of the everyday mech.

In a way, it still hurt losing all that immense power, but the memory of its twisted path far outweighed a cut to the ego. He was on the path to change, and Megatron knew his old vanity was one of the things that needed to be let go.

Megatron did not feel fear or uncertainty denouncing his cause, likely stranding many mech helpless in their ways. He no longer feared the outcry it would inevitably create, nor the ridicule he was set to face.

 

When he did find himself feeling some semblance of tension, it was as the trial came to a close, when he was alone with the Prime for what was likely their final meeting.

It wasn’t the cell this time, there was no reason to return there now. Optimus found him in a secluded hallway as they exited the trial, led by Ultra Magnus, who’d promptly left in preparation for the _Lost Light._

Optimus waited until there were no longer mech making their way through the hall, ushering Megatron to the side with a gentle hand on his arm.

“That coverage went...more smooth than I had hoped,” the Prime said, fixing Megatron with a tired gaze. “Thank you.”

“Of course, well, I only did what you told me to do.”

“Don’t be like that, now. I gave you a choice, I didn’t force you.”

“Yes, yes I’m aware.” Megatron said. “Although it was quite interesting terms.”

“This is what you wanted, is it not? A new change, a different direction for the past?” Optimus asked, though his words didn’t hold as much ridicule as they might have before. Something about him seemed lighter, less tense in the face of how their world was about to drastically change.

“Indeed, that is the plan, Prime.” Megatron just chuckled, tilting his helm up. “However, I’m shocked you’re taking this all so easily now.”

Stepping into their shared space once again, Optimus casts his optics down, hand ghosting over the heavy cuffs around Megatron’s wrists. “I’m only… simply coming to terms with what I actually want. I’ve not had time to think about my own life beyond whether my decisions meant I was still alive and functioning for my people the next day. Now that our society is no longer on the brink of its next battle every day, now that I don’t carry the whole responsibility of mech’s lives on my back, I think it’s time to decide where I belong in a world that no longer requires my input...and who I belong with.”

That is as honest as a confession as he may get, Megatron realizes, and is content with the fact. He may have been a distinguished leader, but Optimus Prime was never one for talking about himself, and maybe it was obvious then why he’d struggled so much with this entire ordeal. He’d had no issue conducting what was likely one of the most important trials in Cybertron’s recent history, but dealing with the personal fallout was an internal conflict a very long time coming, was clearly not easy.

“I admit I can’t let you go not _knowing_.” Optimus continued, the soft hydraulic sigh of his mask sliding back. “But it’s not just that, it’s...I want to. I’m old, and I’ve been stubborn for far too long. I can only thank you for helping me realize.”

Megatron thinks he’ll never get enough of seeing him without the mask, busy reading the Prime’s face, taking in that honest expression without the barrier, when he feels the weight of the cuffs unlinking and being removed.

Without the restraints, he can’t stop himself from reaching toward Optimus, sliding his freed hands along the sides of red torso plating. Finally touching, more.

“You do not have to thank me, not ever, Prime.” he strokes a seam with the lightest touch. “I was simply acting in the indulgence of a condemned mech.”

Optimus’ frame is warm, rumbling under his touch, and a hand is placed on to Megatron’s hip as he’s crowded against the wall. Another hand is trailing up a shoulder to curl under his grey helm. It's fast, but not too much, appropriate for time lost.

“You are no longer condemned,” he’s speaking close. “this was me giving you your chance, your new shot at life. This is me saying I _believe you._ ”

Megatron laughs, shaking his helm. “You are such an old fool.” he says.

Optimus gives him a small smile. He’s still hesitant, but the field around them buzzes with warmth as he leans his frame in, their chests nearly touching. “We both are.” he whispers against Megatron’s lips, and closes the distance.

 

Megatron moves instantly as Optimus kisses him, his soft stroking tensing into a grip. Warmth sparks in his frame as they shift even closer, and Optimus’ hand caresses his helm.

No longer afraid, no longer worried about the consequences, Optimus takes the moment and gives himself over to the new feeling. They’re clumsy together, but not lost, never too awkward in each other’s presence. It’s just a new dance, a new path to take- one that actually fits their eternal verity.

Megatron sighs into the kiss as Optimus pecks the corner of his mouth, and then his jaw, cradling his helm as if he were delicate. His spark is spinning madly, aching in his chassis, and he runs a hand up to Optimus’ chest, gently brushing his fingertips at the center seam.

_Let me show you…_

Optimus places another kiss on the side of his helm, humming contentedly as he pulls back. He doesn’t need Megatron to ask, or even say a word.

“I want to.” the Prime whispers, and Megatron can’t help the full smile that spreads across his face. This time he’s the one pulling Optimus into another world-shattering kiss as he configures his chest plates to open and spill brilliant light into the dim corridor. Optimus chokes at the feeling of the heat from a bare spark against his outer armor, but Megatron holds him tight, gripping him, rubbing at his back plating. “It’s alright,” he murmurs.

Optimus shakes but slides open his chest, the magnetic draw of their sparks already pulling him in. He’s breathless as they reach, the light tendrils twirling and fusing while the casings themselves have yet to come together.  
“ _Oh,”_ Megatron’s optics shutter for the new feeling, the good ache of his untouched spark. He frantically scrambles for one of Optimus’ hands, interlocking their fingers and squeezing. “Come on, Optimus…”

  
In one swift move, Optimus is on him, in him. Megatron feels the next kiss from both sides, their shared energy and sensations already cycling through each of their frames- and it’s like nothing he’s ever experienced. It’s utter closeness and trust and truth and…

_Love._

He cries out from pure emotion as Optimus becomes bold and reaches, pulls him further in. Consciousness is no longer a divide, their cores splitting and branching out, taking fractal pieces of each other. Megatron feels that same worry he can often read on his counterpart’s face, but it’s right on the edge of something larger- something like _respect._

The most deep-seated, oldest emotion he can feel in the Prime is utter respect, blooming into the newer sensation of _trust_. He feels Megaton’s own motives and aspirations, his almost altruistic hopes of penance. Optimus accepts this, already had accepted him before delving into his spark, and that fact makes Megatron nearly burst in gratitude.

He’s reeling, gasping to try and find his footing under the onslaught of emotions in the circuit. He wants to push back, throw back his appreciation and compassion, but Optimus’ core is strong. He’s glad that the Matrix no longer obstructs the Prime’s spark, afraid of what he would become if influenced by the artifact- he only wants that pure experience, the full feeling of _Optimus_ , and deep down,

_Orion._

Megatron can still feel Orion there, that young officer with a spark of gold who held admiration for him at his very beginnings. The appreciation had never left, just been buried by years of disappointment. He feels that dark period of time when _Orion Pax_ was merely an escape for Optimus from a world that no longer demanded him, every memory flooding his processor.

 

Megatron reaches out with his core too, searching. There’s approval and wonder, next to anger and regret, but never betrayal. All these years, all the things he had done, and he can’t find betrayal toward himself within the Prime. He finds disappointment in chance after chance, but not once did Optimus give up on him. His reluctance in Megatron’s change had only been driven by his fear to be let down one last time. Megatron’s spark throbs, he wants to cry out at this old fool for placing his faith in someone who only let him down time and time again, nothing to gain but grief. The regret hurts, accidentally bleeding over into their connection, but Optimus is pulsing comfort at him.

_It’s okay, it’s over. Never again._

In the recesses of his own spark, Megatron is ashamed of that old resentment, and pushes forward his understanding and bittersweet empathy over their link. Their histories momentarily intertwine, and he sees, feels himself as that young officer, reading the writing of a revolutionary wrongfully committed. In turn, Optimus feels his first struggles, feels the pain of losing a loved one, that hateful victory over the class that beat him down. They each feel their first battles against the other, the pain and the failure, the obsession of the war. Not everything shared can be good, but sharing the pain eased the connection.

Energy coursing simultaneously in and out of his spark has Megatron feeling light, barely perceptive of Optimus’ mouth on his or the hands against his crackling plating. Their cores continue pulsing at each other, searching for each and every component, fitting all the pieces, _making them whole_.

They live each other’s lifetimes, and yet the bond is completing in no time as the winding spindles of light begin to untangle. Megatron finds isn’t like falling or leaving an embrace, because the energy flowing back only fills his frame with a new warmth, a _complete_ warmth. Optimus is gripping his hand tightly, venting heavily as his side is tangling itself back to his core. Their plating feels scorching to the touch, and Optimus plants a kiss against Megatron’s neck before pecking at his lips a last time, just sighing and holding him close.

 

Relaxing against the wall, Megatron shares the weight and comfort of the Prime’s frame against his. He feels utterly content, the worry and anxiety diminished. There’s hope in its place, a strangely bright feeling forged between each of their sparks.

At last their sparks fully retract, chest plating hissing closed. Megatron’s spark feels expanded, and the sensation is dizzying, if not for being overrun by the sudden crash of emotions.

“I-I never knew…” he rasps out, “I never realized you had held your faith in me for so long. _Optimus..._ ”

Optimus squeezes their joined hands, brings them up again to rest against the red symbol on Megatron’s chest.

“It was hard, and I felt that at times I did give up on you. The height of the war, seeing everything you had done… I didn’t think you were the same as that humble miner who wrote in his spare time. I thought about that often, but reality would always bring me back. I suppose even when I did give up, my spark never truly did…” Optimus says, placing a chaste kiss across the top of their linked fingers. It’s still a difficult memory, but the fondness between them suppresses it.

Megatron just looks at him in wonder, amazed that there are ways the Prime could still surprise him. He feels his spark jump a little, that fluttering feeling fresh and exciting.

“Don’t be too surprised,” Optimus laughs and Megatron realized that in proximity, the emotion was shared by their link. “I am just a stubborn old fool, after all.”

Megatron shares his humor, pulsing that timid elation from himself. “Optimus, you give yourself too much credit, as if I don’t share that very feeling now.” he chuckles. Optimus gives him that tired smile again, but it doesn’t hold the same weight as before.

For once, there’s no distance between them. For once, that itching feeling of unspoken words doesn’t take hold of their sparks. Megatron’s future ahead is unknown, but he finds he has more than enough strength to venture headfirst into the darkness if he carries the light of another. And he feels Optimus at ease toward his place in their world. He isn’t settled, but he is grounded. Together, forging a new path in separate directions is not calamitous, but completes a whole, a new circuit igniting itself.

**Author's Note:**

> I find it harder to characterize Megatron in my writing, somehow, although this fic was mostly centered on him. Any comments or kind critique are welcome! Thank you.
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